


This Isn't An Interview

by WingFeathers



Series: Under the Shadow of Your Wings [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Bruce is Not Quite Sure Yet If He is Actually a Dad, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne subtext if you squint which I do, Dad Bruce Wayne, Deleted Scene, Dick is not yet Robin, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 17:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14193882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingFeathers/pseuds/WingFeathers
Summary: Clark wants to know all about the new addition to the Wayne household.  Bruce is not interested in being interviewed or in interrupting bedtime.





	This Isn't An Interview

**Author's Note:**

> This would fall in the middle of Chapter 8 of Taking Flight, during the week after Bruce tells Dick that he is Batman. I like some of what we get on Bruce's side here, but it interrupted the flow of the chapter and slowed things down -- plus it ruins the later Clark reveal from Dick's POV and brings up unnecessary questions (how _did_ Clark find out about Bruce? etc etc). So I cut it from the main story, but am posting it here as promised. Enjoy!
> 
> (I have an actual sequel of _Taking Flight_ as well, so stay tuned for that -- it's not just the deleted scene!)

Bruce hated other people being in the Cave. Alfred was fine, of course. He didn’t mind Dick’s presence, either, for a couple of hours at a time. But Clark Kent was humming happily while reading through a file on suspected arms-dealers, and Bruce was ready to find a Kryptonite baseball bat and slam it into his super-mouth.

He settled for words. “Could you _not_?”

“Helps me think,” Clark explained. He tapped his earlobe while keeping his eyes on the evidence record. “Blocks out all the interference.”

“Right.” Bruce hated when Clark acted like that, like superpowers were some kind of _annoyance_. “Must be terrible.”

Clark looked over now, with surprise. “It’s not _fun_ , you know. Hearing people crying for help at literally every waking second? Makes it hard to not feel guilty wasting time standing here idle.”

Bruce snatched the file away. “If you think this is _wasting time_ , you’re free to go.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. Jeez.” Clark grabbed the file back. He didn’t go back to reading, though. Instead, he stared off into space, looking slightly distraught. He was _listening_.

“So the tabloids weren’t lying,” he suddenly said. “You brought a kid home.”

Even though Clark had figured out his identity months earlier, Bruce preferred to keep his private life guarded and separate from work.  He opened another file on the desk and pretended to look for information on another suspect.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “I can _hear_ another heartbeat. _Upstairs_.”

Bruce bristled. “He’s not involved in this.”

“ _Sorry_. I just…” An annoying smile drew across Clark’s face. “It doesn’t match with your whole wastrel routine, does it?”

“Who says _wastrel_?”

“You’re dodging the question.”

“This isn’t an interview.” Bruce crossed his arms.

“So, what’s he like?”

Bruce thought he’d been clear about his _not-an-interview_ stance, but thinking about question thawed his irritation. Recent memories and conversations flashed through his mind, but the right words to describe Dick escaped him. Or maybe he was just more careful at choosing his words around a writer like Clark.

“Earnest,” he said at last. “And effusive, for better or worse.” In the first few interactions they’d had even before Dick came home, Bruce had already seen a full range of emotion, swinging from grief to fear to wild enthusiasm. “I’d think that’s being young, but I don’t think I was ever so emotional. Not demonstrably so.”

“Shocking.”

“Hh. Maybe I was,” Bruce said, ignoring the jibe. It was probably the kind of thing you’d need an outside view of. Something to ask Alfred.

Clark leaned in ever-so-slightly, as if prompting for an elaboration.

“He’s just as dauntless, though,” Bruce continued, feeling a surge of pride—not that pride made sense, as he hadn’t been responsible for any part of Dick’s character. “And he’s observant. He could make a damn good detective someday.”

“Are you gonna tell him? About…” Clark nodded in a general direction. All of it. The Cave.

“I already did.”

“ _Real-_ ly?”

Bruce nodded, letting his arms fall back to his side.

“I’ll be.”

“He’s sharp,” Bruce said, by way of explanation. “And he lives here. He would’ve figured it out.”

“You _trust_ him.” It was a logical conclusion, not a question. Clark looked pleased by it, like he’d uncovered some secret.

Bruce furrowed his brow. It felt foolish in one light, that he’d trusted his biggest secret to an over-exuberant expressive child. But he didn’t doubt Dick. At all. “Yes. I do.”

“That’s a small club he’s joined, huh? What? Your butler, your doctor, me…?”

“I didn’t _tell_ you,” Bruce reminded him, gritting his teeth. He didn’t even really trust Clark, so much as he trusted that Clark didn’t want Superman’s secret identity made public anymore than Bruce wanted Batman’s.

Clark chuckled, as if anything was funny about that. “Right, of course. So… Can I meet him?”

“He’s sleeping.”

Clark cocked his head. A silence. “No, he’s definitely not.”

“He _should_ be sleeping,” Bruce grumbled.

“So…?”

“No. It took forty minutes to get him to stop talking and _go_ to bed in the first place, and apparently even that wasn’t enough. I’m not dragging him out, riling him up with meeting _you_ , and restarting that process.”

Bruce glanced over at Clark, who was leaning over, his elbow on the work-station. The edges of a smile peeked out behind his fist, and his eyes narrowed to coin-slot squints.

“ _What_.”

“It’s a good look on you.” Clark sat up, revealing a goofy self-satisfied grin. “The whole _dad_ thing.”

“I’m _not_ his dad.”

Clark raised his eyebrows. “Whatever you say.”

“ _This_ ,” Bruce noted, “is _wasting time_.”

“Fine, fine.” Clark flipped the case file back open and thumbed through the pages with unnatural speed. “These look like the guys I saw heading for Egypt. Mind if I take it?”

“Yes.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll go follow up on them, see if it checks out.” Clark dropped the file back on the workspace. “Thanks for the help.”

Bruce answered with a curt nod.

“Oh, and Batman?”

“Hm?”

“Good luck with bedtime.” Clark flashed an obnoxious smile, and in a flash of red and blue, he was gone.


End file.
